Tag Archives: Poem

How Strange

The young lad bellies down, ink in hand. He writes of pregnancy, a father’s knotting mistakes, and trees bent to make way for man-made things. He writes of pulling on the pocket of a peaked lapel. And muddling wool with tobacco-stained fingertips. He writes of the pain in growing— still longing for a cold hardContinue reading “How Strange”

WAKE

WAKERachel M. Croce Bernard is not the name of a man, but a place where winter eyes cast shore to shore and land kissed upon seagrass-laden rocky salt-marshand feast upon simplicity  where loneliness mates with dreary coastline I wed myself to mean unsailed sailor bent upon cracked compassarrows dance between glass and brass  loose bootstraps lift weighty limbsin searchto hideContinue reading “WAKE”

He’s No Politic I’m No Saint; How We Often Step Into Meaning

Wrapped twice around a frail neck is the lace from my mother’s slipslipping further from where she ought to gogoing forward in the most domestic way  Pale in a pretty green dresswaves sway back and forth around me mashing and folding bending and molding to the perfect dirtydirt dinner taste of pebblesdark and dirtdirty fingernails peeling like the applesweContinue reading “He’s No Politic I’m No Saint; How We Often Step Into Meaning”

I Am Not Your Comfort Woman

As cold metal scrapes its way through bubbling saliva and wraps around my tongueI think to myself I will do this because I love him Thick fingers curl themselves and firmly swathe leather strapsThey tell me                              move to the left   Continue reading “I Am Not Your Comfort Woman”

Drip on Me

These branches breathe a heavy sigh“Dripping,” as he put itThey drip the curlingCrack the coughing at each sorrowful Stone-cold inGoodnight skyUnknowing friend keep meCompany keep me Here is where home is builtA fire glowing Growing Going Flames dance to be unseen Just before you stack With sturdy dirty fingersStack the dryness of dead branch treeDryContinue reading “Drip on Me”